Wounds
by Air Condition
Summary: She had been expecting him home. He had only gone out to have a look around. He was supposed to be okay. And yet he stood in the doorway in a growing pool of his own blood, looking at her with the most terrified expression she had ever seen.
1. Chapter 1

He wasn't gone for long. Perhaps just a few hours, at most. He should have been back by now, actually. She guessed he would be any minute. He had only gone to have a look around. They had been sent out on another mission, and while it wasn't the furthest from home they had ever been, it was quite a distance. They hadn't even quite reached their destination yet. They still had a day or two of traveling left. She didn't think anything unusual would happen to him; this place they had stopped at seemed quiet. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened, and nobody they had spoken to had voiced any concerns. They had even found a place to stay for the night: an empty house that belonged to a couple in town. They had been offered the house for just the night, and they took it without hesitation.

She had almost settled down for the night, though she decided it'd be better to wait for him before she went to bed. So, she settled on sitting comfortably on a small chair in the living room. A loud crash broke the silence, and she almost jumped out of her skin. Her immediate reaction was to assume it was an enemy. She moved briskly down the hall, activating her Innocence and turning the corner quickly enough to attack if there was danger lurking.

There was no danger. He was the only one who stood before her, and even if he had meant to be a threat, he wasn't capable of being one to _anyone_, let alone someone as competent as her. He was barely standing in a slowly-growing pool of his own blood, the doorframe the only thing holding him up. He had pushed the door itself open with such force that it had dented the wall, and she could not figure out how he had the strength to do that looking at him now. He was looking down at the ground, not even looking up to acknowledge her.

She couldn't tell what he was thinking, as she had never seen him quite as bad as this. His expression, or what she could see of it, was one of pure fear, eyes wide and mouth open. His skin was so pale that it nearly rivaled his hair, which was matted and dulled with muddy reds and browns and other sickly colors that shouldn't have been there. His clothes were no better, tattered and torn in various places, shining with blood.

Finally she had absorbed the situation enough to move. She deactivated her innocence, and as soon as she reached for him, he stumbled forward to meet her. She grabbed his arms and he gripped the front of her shirt, but neither was strong enough to stay standing. With the last few seconds she had on her feet, she managed to reach out and slam the door shut again before falling down with him. He sank to the floor and dragged her down with him until she was on her knees, his face buried in her stomach. It was uncomfortable for both of them, but when she tried to push him off for just a second so she could sit down; he clung to her tighter and winced as if she were trying to leave him. It didn't take too much effort to pry his fingers open and push him up, though knowing how bothered he was when she did made it hard enough. As soon as she stopped holding him up, he crashed back down into her, burying his face in her neck. Now that they were close she could feel him shaking, and hear his quick, unsteady breath; almost hyperventilating. She wanted to ask him what had happened, but she had the feeling neither of them could speak, anyway.

She couldn't tell where he was bleeding from; he was covered in it. By now it had streaked her clothes and the stains only grew as he tried to move closer, grabbing the back of her shirt and pulling her in. He pushed his face harder into her neck and she swore he was trying to speak, but nothing came except panicked whimpers and gasps. He scratched at her as if she were trying to flee from him, though she was perfectly still and had no reason to try to push him away again like she had just a moment ago.

She weaved her hand into his hair and held him to her, but that just seemed to break him more. His grip tightened on her sides and he wailed, shaking his head. She felt something warm drip down her shoulder, though she couldn't be sure if it was his blood or if he had started crying. Suddenly he seemed to be unsure of whether he wanted to cling to her desperately, or try to escape her hold on him. It seemed such a hard decision that she swore he could have torn himself in in half. As much as he tried to move, whether it was forward or back, she was too scared to let him and just held him like she was, pinning him there and refusing to let go. Just as soon as he seemed to quiet down, he'd thrash again and some other ungodly noise would escape him. Finally he managed to speak just once, though the words were barely distinguishable.

_"Help me."_

She wanted to, so badly; but she was frozen to the ground with him and unable to do anything but hold on so he wouldn't cause himself even more pain. Yet, all she was managing to do was wear him down even more as he struggled, though she figured that was better than letting him go without any idea of what he would do. It seemed to work, slowly. Every time he thrashed against her, he got weaker. Her endurance was no better, and she grew tired as well.

By the time the room had gone dark, he couldn't move. The worst he could do was twitch every few minutes, and it was hardly an attempt to break free. Her grip finally loosened now that there was no chance of him doing something destructive. Her fingers seemed to be locked and it took a moment to open them. The hand she had tangled in his hair was almost sticky, drenched in his sweat and everything else that had settled into it. As she relaxed she realized how much her body burned after all the energy she had spent on him. He stayed where he was, leaning forward into her, quietly quivering under whatever horrible weight she could not see. She desired nothing more than to remove it from his shoulders. But, she couldn't, and so she suffered with him.

She ran her fingers along his sides as she lowered her arms, tired of holding them up like she was. She kept brushing through the blood that still wet his clothes, but she couldn't tell if it was because he was still bleeding. Were the wounds still open, or had the blood simply not had enough time to dry? On any other occasion it wouldn't have been as much of a concern, but his mental state just added to her fear.

She leaned back against the wall for support, and he groaned as his weight shifted with her. It was clear that he was uncomfortable like that, but when he started to shift she reached up in case he was going to start panicking again. He didn't; not quite yet. After a minute he managed to get himself in a better position, leaning sideways against her, resting his head on her chest with his knees pulled up to his chin. His hands entangled with one of hers. It seemed that the stress of moving so much brought back his fear, as she felt him begin to shake again. She held his head still, and felt him shudder, ignoring the pain as his nails dug into her arm. It didn't last long this time, as he was too tired to let his emotions get the best of him for very long. Again he sank into exhaustion and relaxed against her. She rested, too, tired from fearing for him.

His eyes grew heavy then, and he seemed to drift away from consciousness, though occasionally he still flinched and clung to her for just a second. She didn't even react anymore, knowing it would fade just as quickly as it had come. As he fell from reality, so did she. As much as she feared falling asleep and missing something, she couldn't stay awake. As soon as he was gone, she lost the last remaining shred of energy she was clinging to, and her surroundings went dark. Her last thought was just hoping that by some miracle that he would be alive in the morning.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Whoops, I went back and just edited a little bit of the start of the first chapter! It's not too much, but you might just want to go check it.

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It was a quiet morning. The sun had just barely begun to peak over the horizon, drenching the room in a damp orange light. She awoke slowly, feeling at first instead of thinking. Her arms and her stomach were sore from the previous night of holding him so tightly and hiding the panic that had risen inside of her. The rest of her was stiff from spending the whole night leaning against the wall without much room to move. She could feel a weight pushing against her chest and hear the quiet whisper of his breath, but it was comforting at first. She wasn't quite aware enough to remember what had transpired hours earlier.

He hadn't moved from his spot, either. He was still curled up against her with his chin ducked down into his collar. No longer holding onto her hand like he had been earlier, his arms were tucked between his legs. He had already woken up, though he made no effort to wake her up, too. He stayed and gazed at the wall with glazed eyes, blinking only when it hurt to keep them open.

She finally stirred and pulled her hand up to push the hair out of her face. She blinked a few times and tried to take a deep breath to push back the weight. The air that filled her lungs and the light that flooded her sight finally brought her to her senses, and then the memories shot through her like a bullet. She gasped his name and wrapped her arms around him again, though she quickly realized she shouldn't hold him too tightly if she was so unsure of his injuries. He flinched when she moved so suddenly, and pulled his hand up to place it over one of hers, which, though it was small, was a reassuring gesture.

She spent a second just scanning him with her eyes, taking note of every single little detail she could make out from her limited position that wasn't quite right, from the torn fabric of his clothes and the shallow bruises on his skin, to the deep gashes in his flesh. It seemed that he had at least stopped bleeding, if she was to take the dry stains as any indication. Still, with the room lit up and the shock of the situation gone, he looked a lot worse than she remembered.

He pulled his hand off of hers suddenly, wrapping it around his stomach, and a second later she heard it growl. She assumed he was hungry, as that wasn't an unusual occurrence. She wasn't sure if it was comforting or upsetting that something as simple as that was bothering him. He started to move, and she let go to let him. It was a lot easier to breathe once he was no longer leaning against her chest. He tried to stand, but his legs seemed a bit too shaky to push him up off the floor. She found it hard to stand up, herself. She managed, though, and extended her hand to him.

It didn't seem like he wanted to rely on her too much, because despite the fact that he took her offer, he hardly put any weight into her while he forced himself up. He grit his teeth and his face contorted as he held back everything that was causing him pain. He leaned against the wall for a minute just to regain his composure while she stood beside him, not knowing what to do besides continue holding his hand. She wanted to just take him back home, where they help him without much of a problem. But, they were a few days out, and it seemed a bit too much of a hassle to try to move him right now, when he couldn't even stand up on his own. She wasn't exactly a medical expert, but she knew she could at least fix him until he was stable enough to go home.

When he finally tried to start walking, she had to keep his arm around her shoulder, as he just kept falling off to the side without her. She didn't know where he wanted to go, so she settled for bringing him upstairs, where there was at least a comfortable bed waiting for him. Surely it would be better than sitting on the floor any longer.

She started to worry on the way there; every few steps he'd shake violently and clamp his hand over his mouth. She'd stop with him until it died down, but it just kept happening. She asked what was wrong, but he just shook his head. She wondered if it was just the stress of walking, but she soon found the real cause. As they passed the bathroom on the way to the stairs he pushed off of her, throwing himself at the wall and clinging to it so he wouldn't fall. He stumbled his way through the door and fell to his knees, hunching over the toilet. He gagged a few times before she heard him lose whatever was in his stomach. He groaned when the pain of heaving so violently finally hit him. She reached down to try and help him, but he raised his hand to try and tell her to wait. She hesitated for a second, before just pushing through his hand and kneeling beside him, anyway. She ran her hand along his back, but he just shrunk away from her. Each time he gagged he'd wince from the pain. And then maybe he'd lose some more of what was in his stomach. And then he'd cough for a minute. She could feel it coming each time, as he'd tense under her hand a moment before it started.

After a few minutes, he finally seemed to stop. She heard him spit out whatever was left in his mouth before he sat back on his knees, wiping his mouth off on his arm. She took her hand away and stood up. She could see that what he had thrown up was a muddy red color; she assumed it was blood and maybe something else that she would never figure out. She kicked down the handle to flush it away before trotting to the kitchen for a glass of water. He gave her the sweetest smile he could manage when she brought it back to him. It annoyed her. Why would he be smiling while he obviously felt so miserable? Perhaps it shouldn't have come as a surprise; it wasn't unusual for him to do it. This time the only difference was that his pain was so clear to her, etched across every inch of his skin.

He drank the water quickly. Too quickly, actually. She tried to warn him to slow down, considering he had just been sick, but by the time she had spoken, he had finished it. She waited for a second to see if he would just throw that back up, too. But he kept it down, and so she helped him up again. She was about to try to head for the stairs again, but he let go of her and turned to the sink, leaning on the wall for support. Switching the water on, he filled up the glass one more time and downed that, too.

He didn't seem satisfied with just getting a drink, though. He left the water running and put his hands under it. He washed away all of the filth, up a little past his wrists, and looked quite pleased with himself for a moment. However, as soon as he looked up into the mirror and saw his own face, washing just his hands seemed so inadequate. He pushed himself closer to the sink and splashed the water on his face.

She wondered, for a second, how long he was going to spend trying to clean himself in a sink. She figured he was just going to finish his face. Then he continued down to his neck, and she reached forward to stop him. She didn't quite make it in time, though. He was being quite rough with himself and succeeded in re-opening a nasty cut along his collarbone. He hissed and kept his hand over it to try and stop it from bleeding, but the water just made the blood run faster down his chest. She held onto his arm and waited for him to relax. As soon as he did, though, he reached for the water again. She grabbed his hand and pulled it away, turning off the water. He looked a little bit too sad that she had done it; something like that shouldn't have bothered him too much. She ignored it, though, and just started walking him to the stairs again.

He stopped when they reached the first step. He asked her where they were going, and she told him. He sighed and looked at the stairs as if she were trying to make him climb a mountain, and she knew it would be hard to reach the top, but it would be worth it. They went slowly. Each step seemed like an achievement, really. By the time they had made it halfway up, however, he seemed drained. He continued, either way, but now he was grabbing at the wall for support so he wouldn't end up leaning on her more than he had to.

That was fine until he clawed at it just a little too hard, tearing off a few thin lines of wallpaper. He froze, pulling his hand back. She didn't really think much of it, but he was certainly bothered. He wiped his palm across the scratches as if he could wipe them away, but did nothing. When she asked him what the problem was, she was irritated to discover that he felt guilty about scratching a wall that didn't belong to them. This was not their house, and he had essentially just caused someone some property damage.

She stared at him and waited for him to tell her that he was kidding. He couldn't seriously be worried about that right now, could he? Of course joking with her right now would be upsetting, too, but of all the things he could worry about and it was _wallpaper. _She shook her head, told him to forget about it, and lightly tugged on him to make him move again. He wouldn't forget about it, she knew, but at least for now he had to. He picked up the pace when they started climbing again, finally leaning on her just enough so he wouldn't have to grab at the wall again.

The bedroom luckily wasn't far from the top of the stairs, He looked at the bed as if he was looking at God himself, and let go of her. She almost expected him to just fall down into it, but it seemed he was at least aware enough to know that would hurt. He slid onto it slowly, pulling himself up to the pillows and burying his face in them. He shook for a second and some orgasmic groan managed to make it through the muffling of the pillows. She sat on the edge beside him.

He rolled over, momentarily grunting pain as he managed to aggravate a few of his wounds. They stared at each other for a few seconds before he shut his eyes, finally feeling at least sort of comfortable. She looked down at his shirt, noting all the injuries she could see and wondering if there were more she couldn't. She asked him how bad he was under his clothes. He told her it wasn't so terrible, but she didn't believe him for a second.

After insisting that he tell her the truth, he forced himself up and just pulled his shirt off. It took him a while to get it off, as he tried not to hurt himself more. Every single inch of skin that revealed itself just proved to her that he was worse than he let on. She was hard pressed to find a spot that wasn't hurt. Some of the injuries were small, sure, but they were still injuries.

Finally he got the shirt all the way off, and dropped it in his lap. He smiled and looked at her as if she should be rather pleased at the state he was in, even going so far as to say "See?". She shook her head and almost snapped at him, but managed not to. Not now. She'd just get more upset, and the last thing she wanted was for him to try and comfort her for _that_. Maybe later, she'd give him a piece of her mind.

She was about to get up and go find some bandages, but before she could leave he grabbed her hand and asked her a simple question.

"Do we have any food?"


End file.
